Beauty from Ashes
by Alice Esther
Summary: Season 8 Jack/Renee. This starts at 8x13, so spoilers are within. Please R&R! The title comes from how both characters are broken in some way, but there truly is beauty from ashes.
1. If Only

I knew it was game over when Owen died. I can say he was a hero, although a terribly misguided one. His heart slowed, and then stopped altogether. Death is something I grew accustomed to, over time. There was blood, gushing out of the bullet wound at his neck, spilling onto the pavement. It has a unique smell: metallic, pungent, sickening. The pale color to his face, the widening of his eyes, and the struggle to breathe: it was all too similar to many other deaths I've seen. I got used to everyone around me dying. In my trade, it's hard to stay alive for very long. I guess I'm lucky. It's not that I like death, that I'm cold, callused to feeling any loss or pain. Every time someone I care about, Owen, in this case, draws his last breath, it hurts. But I have to learn to live with it, even through the feeling like a gaping hole has been torn in my heart, irreplaceable. It's hard; it always is. He died trying to save a friend's life. I can't blame him for that.

I can't blame King either. Thrust into a situation like that, it was hard to expect him to maintain formation. He wasn't the youngest guy on the force, but inexperienced nonetheless. Real fighting is a whole other world from target practice. Bullets flying, noises, the shaking of your own heart causes you to be afraid. And these people shooting weren't just a street gang; they were trained IRK terrorists. If only he had been braver, even a little braver, it might have saved his life. But "if only" doesn't exist. What exists now is the most clear certainty that we, Cole and I, die together, or one of us draws fire and lets the mission live on. I would never ask Cole to do that for me, or for the sake of the whole city for that matter. Today, I'm target practice. I sometimes wish I could leave the world, floating, dead, only to return later. "If only". Hah.

"I lost two of the snipers." Cole's voice broke my thoughts. "If we're gonna make a move, we got to do it soon, Jack." His face was tense, apprehensive. He looked angry even. I was too, since these bastards killed two good men. And now, they were going to get three.

I said quickly, "We can't give covering fire for something we can't see. We need to give them something to shoot at."

His eyes widened, alarmed. I tried not to think about the gravity of the situation. I blotted it out completely as I continued, "I'll make a break to the north. Try and draw their fire. You make a run for the call box."

I felt like I had to rush the words out of my mouth. If I dwelled on them for longer, I might not go with the plan. But it was the only plan that left us alive, or, at least Cole. It was the only way to stop the nuclear attack. I don't know why I always put everyone else before myself. I…I really don't.

"That's a suicide play, Jack. You'll never make it."

I didn't let his words sink in and take root. Cole was just stating what was already clear. Didn't he understand? I try to explain it to him, keeping my face blank, free of emotion. Now was not the time to get gushy and sensitive.

"But you will."

Cole snapped back, "I can't let you do that."

I should have said thanks, because it wasn't often that people took a liking or concern for me. There were some that were different, beings I could relate to. Cole was one of them. I wished, right then, in a small instant, that I could have known him better. I was already resigned to fate, as I always have been. I replied, my voice raised, "I'm in command here. That's what's going to happen. Do you understand?"

He pursed his lips, obviously upset. Of course he had to be upset. We were in a god-forsaken shipyard with almost no ammunition left and terrorists closing in. There was no other way. I waited for him to respond. He seemed to be turning it over and over again in his mind, then he let air out and nodded, in defeat. His agreement startled me, but that's because there aren't a lot of people that think like me. I hadn't expected him to give the okay. I nodded too, preparing myself for what I had to do. It was what I had to do. I had to keep telling myself that.

Then I remembered. I looked out the narrow opening to our position, into the night sky. I wondered what she would think of this, how she would react. I—I thought we had the whole rest of our life. Now, I had only a few more moments. The weight of it melded into my chest, a metal weight, sinking my heart down towards my stomach. It made me weary, wishing I wasn't here. I wished I was in Los Angeles with Kim and little Teri. But then, I never would have met Renee again. If only, if only, if only…

I slowed my thoughts, gathering them like scattered pieces of broken glass. I said quietly, "I need you to do me a favor."

"What?"

"Make sure Hastings keeps his promise. That he doesn't bring Renee back in," I said. It was a last wish. I wondered how Renee would react, but also Kim. Teri. How would Kim tell her that grandpa wasn't coming back? I shoved these thoughts back.

Cole's face was dead serious. He said honestly, "I give you my word."

I felt relieved, though only by a fraction. I was ready to give my life, but I didn't do it because I had nothing left. A few years ago, with the events in D.C., I had nothing left. Now, I had my daughter. A granddaughter. A…I didn't know what I should call Renee. It disturbed me, how I was so eager to throw that all out. No, not eager. It was a necessity. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then rushed on.

"It's not going to be long before they start firing on you," I said as I picked up my gun, preparing it to fire. Sweat beaded on my forehead. This was either going to work or fall flat. There was no choice in another means of attack. All I had to do, I thought to myself, was go out and fight for my life.

"Good luck, Jack."

I ignored the fact that I didn't have much luck in the first place, since we were stuck in this mess. I sidestepped his comment, not because I didn't appreciate it, but that I didn't want him to be upset when I was dead with bullet holes all over my body. Not a nice image, but one I truly believed was what was to happen.

"You get to that call box," I said firmly. That was all that mattered now. Not my family, not Renee, not Chloe. All that made a difference was Cole reaching that call box. We stood. I rested my back against the cold metal crate, gulped in a breath of air, and nodded to Cole.

"Go."

My world was a mass of loud peals of gunfire, lights flashing in my eyes. I kept my eyes on the targets, praying, pleading that they didn't fire on Cole. I was their sitting duck. I could feel my pulse pounding against my temple, my heart racing. My mouth had dried, yet sweat trickled like streams down my face. I moved out into the open, still firing at the terrorists, who were ducking behind the huge crates and barrels that crowded the sides of the shipyard.

Time flies when you're doing something stupid and adrenaline-pumping. Before I knew it, I was in the middle, taking fire from three different people. A bullet took a piece my shoulder, and I went down. A dull pain in my side, and a sharp pain in my shoulder were only a few of the senses I felt. Gunfire. Shouts. The smell of blood, that same pungent, metallic scent. It was my own blood. I fired at the moving people, but they were all a blur. I knew Cole couldn't be in my range, so anything that moved was free game. I tried to keep my mind clear, but it was gradually slipping into panic. I guessed it was something like what King felt. Terror of dying.

Only, I wasn't afraid. I'd stared death in the face too many times to be afraid. The ominous click that entered my cluttered mind told me too much. I was out of ammo. And there was a man standing behind cover, now about to come out. That would be the end. I quickly pulled my hand gun. I tried to aim, chest or head. But I was too confused. I felt the thud of two bullets entering my chest. The edges of my vision were turning black. It was the color of death, well, at least for me. Chinese believe white; other cultures choose red as death's color. Black worked just fine for me. My vision was gone; my ability to move was gone. But I could hear, if only for a moment longer.

Another pistol's fire shrieked in my ears. My last, I thought my dying, thought was: _Cole is firing a machine gun, not a Glock. Who came?_

Then hearing gave out. All sense of feeling left my fingers.

I couldn't tell the difference between dying and just going unconscious.

_Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack…_

Someone grabbed my chest gear. I was rudely pulled out of reverie, panicked. Opening my eyes, I quickly closed them again. Pain consumed everything I thought. My shoulder complained; my chest burned like it was on fire. I wondered what this person wanted with me. Who was this?

As if to answer my question, she said, "Jack. It's okay. It's me: Renee. Shh, it's okay."

I allowed my eyes to open into slits. And there she was. I don't believe I had ever been so happy to see her. I couldn't express this very well though. I was nearly screaming from pain. But I didn't want her to hear me like that. My plan worked. And, miracle of all miracles, I was still alive. I gasped for breath, choking, not able to breathe.

She lifted my head up, and I was able to draw in air. But that made the pain worse, sending terrible shockwaves throughout my upper body. I forced myself to speak, "They've got the fuel rods. They're taking them across the river—into the city." I felt like my heart was about to explode, and I lost air again. I ached to see her so worried; I ached all over. Now that she was here, I didn't want to die. I couldn't die now.

I gasped, "I can't breathe." I closed my eyes again, grimacing, panting.

_Don't die. Don't die. Don't die,_ I thought quickly.

While I was the perfect example of hysteria, Renee was calm. Her hands were steady, firm. She couldn't hide relief in her voice when she said quietly, "It's okay. Nothing went through."

_Thank God_. I breathed in, out, vainly trying to steady myself. I was completely failing.

"Relax, Jack. You may have a collapsed lung. Try not to move."

I rested back against the pavement, closing my eyes, making myself immobile. I heard footsteps run up and twisted my head to see Cole. His big, expressive eyes were filled with concern.

"Jack, I just got through to CTU. They're back online. If they send out any choppers were still have a good chance of finding them."

I nodded slowly, still gripped by shudderings up and down my torso. The throb in my shoulder was growing into a needle grip. I was able to keep my eyes open now, and I saw her face staring down at me. I hardly noticed when Cole left. He did as much as he could, and he was the real winner here. I was the stupid one. I reminded myself to thank him later. But for then, I was looking at her. She was the anchor that kept me from slipping back into unconsciousness. It always seemed that she was the one there in the toughest times. When I was dying after the D.C. events, she stood by my side until the ambulance doors shut.

She stroked her hand across my forehead. Her fingers were speckled with blood. I felt it seeping through my shirt, but it wasn't too much that I would die. Like she said, the bullets didn't go through. They were probably lodged somewhere in my body, I thought. Slowly, my breathing became more regular, even if the drawing in was sharp and the out was slow. I said, "Thank you, Renee."

She blinked and replied, "Don't mention it." She glanced down, as if trying to think of something to say.

"Can you sit up?"

I pulled my arms under me and attempted to. My arms felt like limp noodles. I was about to collapse when she put her hands under me and lifted me up and against her. Fire still burned uncontrollably through my veins, but that all seemed dulled now. She laid one arm across my shoulders, her fingers lightly touching the place where I'd been shot. Her other hand supported my back. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Again, it was hard to say something that made sense, that mattered.

She moved the hand that draped on my shoulders to the back of my head, which was now sticky with sweat. She pulled herself back and looked at me. It bothered me when I couldn't read the emotions on someone's face. Her lips were turned up in a half-smile. She was so beautiful: blue eyes, dark red hair. Even beyond that, she had strength, courage, compassion. I couldn't understand what she'd want with a guy like me. She'd seen me shaking in seizures, dying on a stretcher, grimacing from a stab wound she inflicted, and here, bleeding and just returning from the hell of the past hour.

I said, "I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Whatever for?"

How could I tell her? No. I couldn't. I shut out any thoughts otherwise. I met her eyes and held her gaze.

She answered her own question, "There's nothing to be sorry for."

What I wanted to tell her was it was my fault. Everything was my fault. She was suicidal because of me. She lost her job because of me. Everything in her life fell apart because of me. But the firmness in her response gave me hope. Could she really look past all of that?

I'm not good at expressing feelings, but I felt them ravaging my heart more than the pain from getting shot. I thought if I didn't say something, anything, I would burst. I thought I would never get this opportunity again, only a few minutes before. I had nearly given my life without a second glance. The realization that I could have been dead now, and with her looking over me, was unbearable. Tears welled in my eyes, partly from pain, mostly from anguish. I looked down. I didn't sob. I fought back tears and felt my voice come back as a tiny whisper.

"I almost lost you."

"I almost lost you."

Her voice nearly blotted out my own words. Ambulance sirens could be heard in the distance. I pulled myself back together and said, "Thank you. You saved my life."

She shrugged. I looked back at her. Her eyes were puffy and red. She replied, "Anyone would have done the same. You don't have to say thank you."

I heard the screech of tires and the blaring of the alarms. Flashing lights bounced off the buildings, coloring the shadows. She pulled me to my feet. I walked slowly, limping, short of breath. But she was there to support me, and with her I stood.

If only life could always be as real as it was now.

* * *

I, much like Jack Bauer in the last episode, have come back from the land of the dead. ...24 writers. ANYWAYS, as always, I do not own 24 or any characters thereof.

What did you think? Got sorta gushy towards the end, but I'm a girl, so I don't care. XD Please review! I really do read your comments and take encouragement from them.

Forever your enslaved writer, AE


	2. Strength

**Disclaimer: I am not awesome. I do not own Fox, 24, or any characters of this show. (Though I'm working on hiring Bauer as my security guard. I'll get back to you on that one.)**

**Chapter Two! Yay! My comments on this episode and the preview for the next are at the bottom, as well as the notes on writing this chapter. Please Read and Review, as always. Tell me if it gets too mushy. I'll try to fix it for next chappie. (Turns off the peach harvester.)**

**WARNING!!!!!!!!!! -- _references_ to sex, and not very graphic. (I hope.) Should be okay if your parents have given you the "talk", or you looked it up online, or if you've been watching "special" videos (in reference to specialty, I hope not).**

**ANOTHER WARNING!!!!!!!!!!**

**A _main_ character DIES in this!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

* * *

Jack hurriedly ignored the medical technician's warnings. So much like him. But what really got to me what I saw a moment before: a dark red blossom on his side, a wound I inflicted just hours before. It was madness, those few moments. Part of what makes a nuclear weapon so devastating is that it doesn't break the shell immediately. Instead, it has a tiny explosion inside before it bursts out, causing something more destructive than before. I didn't like the analogy, and it was completely inappropriate considering the circumstances: nuclear materials in Manhattan. Another way to describe it is a highly pressurized steam in a pipe. The more angry and filled it gets, the more likely it will be to burst, spewing hot water and burning everything, everyone, around it. That was me, anger. It started when the woman died on the street of D.C. Then, it built more as Larry died and Jack was carried away on a gurney. I vented all of it on Alan Wilson, but the aftermath only steeped more rage. I took it out on myself next, an easier and more willing target. And the night before, it all exploded, and Jack was hurt in the process.

It's hard to live with yourself when it seems everywhere you turn you cause pain. I crossed my arms, turned and walked towards the water. No one took notice of me, and I was free to lean against a railing and gaze at the lights on the other side. They, the New Yorkers, were blissfully unaware. I wished I could be like them, peacefully resting in an apartment, maybe getting ready for work. But no, I was tired, scarred, and just waiting for this calm lull to end and for the next tide to rise above my head.

I heard Jack's footsteps and his muttering into a cell phone. I looked in his direction. He met my gaze and I walked over. I couldn't tell who he was talking to and what about, but I could see the somber look to his face. He watched me, blue-gray eyes not flinching away. So many people didn't want to meet my eyes. Even people I knew before, Janis, others at FBI, refused to be seen with me. I was the monster next door. But he didn't treat me that way.

"I understand ma'am. I'll leave for the U.N. immediately."

A pause, then he said, "Yes, ma'am."

He was talking to the President. I was sure of it now.

He hung up the phone. "She wants me to supervise Hassan's evac to McGuire Air Force Base."

I shrugged. "Alright, let's go."

"Renee," he started. I had a feeling he wouldn't want me around. Last time I had tried to help, I had screwed things over pretty badly. I could understand. But just minutes ago, I thought he was dying. If I hadn't been there-- I told myself I wasn't going to think about that. I wasn't going to let him go adventuring off by himself. Not again. I had already started walking towards the car, but I turned back and glared at him.

"Renee, I need to do this on my own."

Oh sure, 'course you're not, I thought. I guessed this was a roundabout way of saying I wasn't fit to fight. But I was here, and I would fight the whole way through. Well, two could play that game.

"We're not going through this again. I'm coming with you." My roundabout way of saying I wasn't going to let him get himself in deep trouble like had happened the hour before.

"End of discussion," I added on the end. For good measure. I was the first to walk towards the vehicle. I glanced over my shoulder and see his thoughtful gaze resting on me. Then he followed. I slipped quietly into the passenger's side and stared resolutely ahead. I half-expected him to give me a piece of his mind. But he stepped into the car and drove out without so much as a word. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing more easily now.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" he finally asked.

It felt like he was tip-toeing around me like I would snap if he said anything too brash. I opened my eyes and replied, "Why don't you say, 'Renee, you're emotionally unsound. You're not ready for this'? It's obvious that's what you think."

He was silent for a few moments. "If that's the way you want to treat it. You need to take a break."

Renee asked, "What about you? Don't you want to go back to Los Angeles with Kim and your grandkid?"

"Of course I do. But I'm here, and if I leave--"

He cut off his sentence. We both knew the consequences if he decided not to help anymore. Besides the fact that the bomb might blow a hole in New York City, I would be tried for the murder of a Russian mobster. Didn't improve my opinion that all lawyers out to burn in hell.

"You've had a rough night, Renee."

I replied, "So have you. It's no different."

He shot a worried glance at me and said, "You know it's different."

I felt my mind drift back to that warehouse, that room. That maggot, Laitanan, inside me, shredding and tearing, causing unbearable pain. I hated him. And then the steam tank burst, the atomic bomb exploded. Red hail burst from his carcass, splattering the floor, the wall, my face, my murderous hands. I screamed, and I turned on the only person who stood beside me. I, an uncontrollable monster, tried to kill the man sitting next to me. I had washed the blood off my hands and face. But the worst part was stepping into Jack's shower, at his apartment, and cleaning the trail of blood down my legs.

Back in the car, tears brimmed in my eyes. I quickly fought them back, but not before Jack noticed. He said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

I stared ahead as the painful memories ate me alive. I croaked, "No. You shouldn't have."

We didn't want to make eye contact anymore. Jack said, "I can still drop you at the apartment. You can get the car and drive down to New Jersey, or into the Upstate. I can meet you afterwards."

This didn't make any glimmer of sense to me. I asked, "And what about you? What if CTU can't stop the attack?"

"Then that's that." His voice was flat-lined, unemotional.

I said, "I'm not going to let you die alone."

"Renee, I want you to be safe."

I replied angrily, "For what? I meant it when I said I have no one. I'm not a drama queen; I really did mean it. You were the one who said I could count on you. If you're dead, I have no one for me to count on. If you die--" I found it hard to find my breath. If you die, I thought, then I may as well be dead. I leaned back against the head rest of the car, trying to alleviate the pounding of my head. I shook these thoughts, specters of terrible fates, out of my head.

"I'm not going to let you die," I repeated, reassuring both Jack and myself.

Jack replied, "I never said anything about dying. I won't do anything stupid."

I remembered sitting in my office in D.C. that morning a year ago, reading through his file. I stated the words almost from memory, "Los Angeles. A year after Teri Bauer's death." I moved past the other things about that day: George Mason's radiation poisoning, Kim Bauer's disappearance. My voice, biting, said, "He attempted to fly the nuclear bomb into the desert, where he would land so as to save the city."

"I was at a dark point in my life," he said quickly.

I shook my head. "I'm not going to let it happen now. It was a stupid idea. A stupid, stupid, stupid idea." My tone was harsh, angry.

We pulled up to the entrance. I said, "Imagine how different everything would have been." I looked at him and met his eyes. They were understanding. At last. I sighed and tiredness suddenly overwhelmed me. I heard him get out of the car and come over on my side. He opened the door. I was about to pull myself out of the seat when I saw his hand, outstretched towards me. I grasped it, firmly, never wanting to let go. There was strength in his touch, and it filled me with new resolve. The world would fall apart, but we would stand. I would stand, despite all pushing me down.

I stepped out towards the building, letting go of his hand, but still feeling his warmth radiating on mine.

* * *

Jack can smell trouble. And we were in a ton of it. It was an ambush. I had Kayla and Hassan's wife with me. I felt terrible for Kayla, who was whimpering. From what I heard, she'd been through a lot. And in a strange way, I could relate to her. Both of us had been used and thrown away, like a toy in the hands of a wicked child. And now this. I didn't know how well I was holding up myself. I knew Jack hadn't been shot. Yet. First priority, I told myself, was to get the family to safety. Jack was of lesser importance, I knew, but it sounded so terrible in my mind that I pushed the thought away. But as I walked away, leaving him behind, I felt like I was going to be torn in two. I ran, pushing from my mind his face, the screams I heard behind me. It couldn't be him. It was impossible.

I had only one person who cared about me. Jack. Sure, Chloe wasn't hostile, but she wasn't the one who held my hands after I killed Laitanan. He was the one who looked my in the eyes and said he would be there for me. I felt horrible, because I was a murderer. Because I hadn't done my best before, to keep him from dying before my eyes. And even after he lived, he called me. I should have picked up the phone, but I rejected him. I thought he didn't care. I thought he was just another one of the well-wishers who weren't really helpful or caring. I thought he was another Janis. But now, I wondered how hurt he must have been. How much I hurt him. And yet, he promised to be the only friend I had. He promised to be with me.

He was the most important person in my life. More important than President Hassan and his family. And I was leaving him to die.

* * *

But he came back. And the armed men hadn't given up their search. We were running, but I saw their flashlights behind us. I still held my arm around Kayla and Mrs. Hassan. I was clenching the woman's shoulder more than I should have, my fingers turning white. Then Kayla tripped. She shrieked quietly, but it was obvious she had twisted her foot. I pulled her back up.

"We have to keep going," I said quietly.

"Renee, we're not going to make it."

I knelt down behind one of the plentiful barrels in the passageway and looked at Jack, who had taken cover the same way. He pulled out a weapon; I reached for mine.

We had a plan. I really didn't listen to the words, just internalized them. My body, my hands, knew what to do. My mind's only concern was providing the best covering fire I could give. What did latch into my memory was Jack's words to Hassan as he passed him a pistol.

"Take care of your family."

The sense of finality about his words chilled me. I positioned myself, my shaking self, and prepared to do what was necessary. To protect Hassan; to protect Jack. The smoke went up and I let loose. As they drew nearer, I heard rapid fire up ahead. Two shifting shadows fell. Two down. I continued to fire as the smoke dissapated. Jack had repositioned on the other side of the passageway, and another wall of smoke came up.

The scariest thing about the ordeal was not being able to see Jack. I knew he could good and well take care of himself, but the unknown...

He flanked them on the outside. I shot one down. Then, in a moment, the tide turned so dramatically. He got hit from behind, falling down. I wanted to scream, to send the bastard to his grave, to do anything other than just stand there. But I was immobile, stopped from the shock of it all. Jack was about to die, and I could do nothing except look on in horror.

A gunshot split my ears, but it came from behind. I saw the terrorist drop down. Turning, I saw Hassan, smoke curling out of the barrel of his pistol. Maybe it was a good things we were saving his life. I knew Jack was okay. Everything would be fine. I went back to them, the Hassans. I smiled at the President. "That was a fine shot." I still shook violently, negating my fake smile. I felt someone touch my hand, and saw Kayla, standing awkwardly on her twisted leg.

"You were very brave." I saw compassion in her eyes. Where I had been fearful and empty before, I felt filled with new hope. I felt renewed. I glanced at Jack, who was now leading one of the black-clothed men in our direction. I saw the firmness in his step, the determination in his eyes. I saw it in all of us here, from Jack to Hassan to Kayla.

I thought brave was the very last word that would be used to describe me.

* * *

**Commentary on THIS EPISODE:**

**Rejected! I love Renee's really blatant and outright statement of "I'm not going to let you get your butt handed to you again." And "no more arguments" was a nice addition to the end.**

**I thought so much could have gone on behind the scenes in the car on the way to the UN. That was part of the inspiration to write from Renee's POV. Also, the sheer look of horror on her face when Jack was pushed to the ground was priceless.**

**AUGH! Why did the cool UN security lady have to DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE? I LOVED her!!!!!!! Anyone else a fan of this nameless person???!!!**

**...as for the PREVIEW:**

**WHAT THE HECK, PREZ HASSAN?! Jack just saved your life and you go and hit him in the back for repayment?! I think he's going to be in some deep problems in the special two-hour. ANYONE ELSE EXCITED FOR IT?**

**...and for the writing:**

**Script Frenzy just started! It's a competition to write 100 pages of script in 30 days of April. Pretty exciting, no? So I might be a little slower on updates. (By the end of Monday, I'll have two chappies of fiction to write! :O)**

**As for the comment on a character dying...........APRIL FOOLS!**

**Please read and review and sorry for my ranting comments. I'm very hyper right now.**

**Peace out! -ae**


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